Misplaced
by Bob J Montonelli
Summary: A slash story for 24. Mark DeSalvo/Jack Bauer. Jack is troubled, mistrusting, and goes searching for a sounding board. SPOILERS for most of the eps!! Rating will be R later, probably.
1. Default Chapter

Part one of what I hope will continue…uh, assuming nobody flames me to a crisp. I just noticed that there weren't any slash stories in the 24 category. I thought it needed at least one…::innocent look::  
  
Spoilers for: most of the episodes.  
  
  
  
The hospital catapults him into the opposite of CTU. Everything white, everywhere, abuzz with activity. People moving, running, talking. Back at work--back at work where he would be if Mason hadn't ordered him to take a day off--everything was dim and gray, lit by the dull blue glow of computer screens. The noise there was a dull background hum, like a hive of insects, unless something bad happened, in which case people shouted and waved papers. Like…like yesterday…when everything bad happened. He grumbled to himself. He wanted to be working, but no, no, Mason said "take the day off", had said, "things will be fine without you. Go. Sleep."  
  
Sleep? What? Sleep in a too-empty bed in a cavernous house where the sheets still smelled of his wife's perfume, where her clothes were still in the dresser, her soap in the shower? No. No. He kept moving. He was looking for something. No--someone. DeSalvo, the defense department worker. One of the last people he trusted who was alive. Mason…well, Mason was alive, and trustworthy, but was also his boss. It didn't work to talk about things with Mason.  
  
It had taken him two hours of phone calls and emails, but he'd finally extracted the figures for the compound escape. 12 dead, 6 wounded in the initial break. 3 more had died of their injuries. The last three were at Los Angeles County Hospital, in stable condition. He'd gotten the bios on the survivors--Mike McGavin, Daniel Thomasino, and Mark DeSalvo. Good. He'd spoken with DeSalvo. Despite having only known him for two hours, he liked the man, trusted him. And he needed someone to talk with who'd understand.  
  
So here he was, ignoring the confused, occasionally derisive or fearful looks of the nurses, heading up to the right floor.  
  
The nurse on the wing stopped him, backed up by two armed guards.  
  
"Sir. Excuse me, sir. You can't be up here."  
  
"Jack Bauer, CTU." He flashed his badge automatically.  
  
The nurse was a quick one, and snagged it. He clenched and unclenched his fists waiting for her to give him the okay.  
  
"Who are you here for?"  
  
"DeSalvo. Mark DeSalvo."  
  
"I see."  
  
The guards peer over the diminutive woman's shoulder.  
  
"You're clear, but regulation says I have to send Mr. Jenkins in with you." She gestured to the taller of the two guards, who looked to be an ex- football player, huge, lacking any neck, red hair clipped into a severe crew-cut on his short, round head.  
  
"Right, right, sure." Anything. Just…I need someone to talk to. Please. Let me in, dammit.  
  
Jenkins led him to a room with a heavy metal door, fitted with a card- lock. A quick swipe of plastic, and the big man led him in. "Go on."  
  
DeSalvo was either asleep or very, very drugged, because even with the loud clack-thump of the door shutting, he did not stir, his head did not move at all to look in their direction. Then Jack saw the thick bandage, the brace around his neck and right shoulder. He came closer. The eyes were open, watching. Enough needles and tubes that he looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, not a living human being.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Silence. A twitch of a hand by way of greeting.  
  
"Remember me? I'm Jack Bauer."  
  
Another twitch, the eyes flickering from side to side.  
  
"We met at the compound."  
  
Slowly, dark eyes blinked, lips shifted. A faint, hoarse voice. "Yeah. 'Member you. Bauer."  
  
Stupid, Jack thought. Of course he doesn't respond right away. If the he's not paralyzed by whatever drugs they have in him, the bandage and brace prevent most of the movement of his jaw. Stupid. "Drazen's dead."  
  
Something that might have been a smile ghosted over the man's face. "Good."  
  
"You know, I'm not exactly sure why I'm here."  
  
"Wondered…" arching brows, curious look.  
  
"I guess," Jack laughed softly, bitterly, "that you're probably the only person today who didn't betray me or leave me for dead--that is, the only one still alive."  
  
The eyes closed then. "Huh. Sucks f'you."  
  
"I'll leave if you want--"  
  
"No. Stay."  
  
"You're sure?" Why was he feeling compassion for this man who was essentially a stranger? Why did he want to stay?  
  
"Yes. Stay."  
  
"Okay."  
  
He stood, and DeSalvo lay there, neither of them speaking for several long minutes. The guard tapped his foot impatiently.  
  
"Know…" the dark man said softly, smiling, "Wish I rated high enou'fer smart heavies."  
  
Jack couldn't help it. He started to chuckle. All the stress of the day, all the horrible things, and he was standing here and laughing. "And I thought you feds had no sense of humor…"  
  
"No…just you guys too dumb t'gettit…"  
  
He was chuckling harder now, shoulders shaking, muscles of his belly tight. "Right. We must be idiots. After all, if we were smart like you, we'd actually have concrete hours…"  
  
"…and a good diet…"  
  
"…and less of the budget would be taken up by coffee…"  
  
"…and lives."  
  
Jack stopped. Lives. How many lives were lost today because I fucked up? Oh, dear god…Lives…my life…my wife…oh, Teri…I'm sorry… He didn't want to think about that. No. Not the waxy coldness of her skin, blue veins, red blood turning ruddy brown on her shirt…  
  
"Bauer?"  
  
"Uh."  
  
"Sorry…man. Shouldn' of done that."  
  
"It's okay." 


	2. chapter 2

"It's okay." He watches the man lying there. It strikes him then, how alive DeSalvo looks. For a man with holes ripped through his lung and neck, he's in remarkably good shape. Or so he looks--perhaps the natural melanin in his skin hides some inner pallor. But at least he smiles, a skill Jack feels he has lost in the past few days. Like sugar in a car's gas tank, the only laughter he can muster dies with a cough, or stops at a grainy memory of days, weeks, years before. He wishes he had a cigarette, though Kim would probably tell him off for it.   
"You okay? Sure?" It is DeSalvo's low, purring voice, like the note of a cello fading at the end of a symphony.   
"Fine." He replies stonily, though it is a lie through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."  
"Liar."  
One thing he has to give the defense department--they are farmers of truth, plowing through loads a dirt and bullshit to find the flowers they know are there. He wonders, briefly, if they hire their employees specifically for this skill. It brings a bitter, tired smile.   
"How do you know?"  
"Seen you lie...don't do it good..."  
Jack doesn't know whether to hit DeSalvo or the wall. He's tired. Lost. Why is he here, anyhow, talking to a man he knew for what--two hours? Why did he come here, of all places, to the hospital, to death and pain and suffering, when he has plenty of that at home? The night before, when he went up to try and sleep--what a joke, he thinks--he passed Kim's room. His daughter--his beautiful, lively, stubborn daughter--lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. At nothing. He had watched her until it hurt--which wasn't long. It came back to him, then, a memory, 3 year old Kim, standing in a supermarket aisle and holding a box of hideously sugared cereal.  
//"Daddy, this one!"  
"No, honey, not that one."  
"How come? Daddy, how come!"  
"It's bad for you, sweetheart."  
"Daddy!" He remembers her shrill cry of exasperation. "That's just one reason! Gimme free!"  
Terri laughing. "Poor Daddy, she takes after you."//  
He doesn't want to be here.   
DeSalvo speaks again, in the low slur that comes courtesy of his bandages and the canyons carved into his neck and chest. "Jack?"  
"Leave me alone," he says. "I shouldn't have come here. Leave me alone..."  
He turns to leave, the ache building deep in his heart, writhing like a newborn dragon, fire burning his throat. He cages it fiercely. 


End file.
